


A Midnight Awakening

by telepathy



Series: The Castle & The Rose [5]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Angst, Caring, Comfort, Companionship, Emotional, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Heartbreaking, Sadness, growing closer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 01:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10820574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telepathy/pseuds/telepathy
Summary: Belle remains with Beast that first night and tends to him. She tries, he tries, but nothing ever really changes, does it? – New Scene Added –





	A Midnight Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically Part II of 'The Darkened Chamber' but it could be read as a stand alone, so I kept it as such! That said, I recommend reading that first part to better understand this story on the whole.

I’m staying with him, like I knew I would. And he’s allowing it. There is no hesitancy or question, either literal or otherwise; I simply refuse to let him remain alone tonight. No matter, he seems to have reveled in the small, if not a little forced-upon, comfort. 

I’m beginning to suspect that he’s never come even relatively close to this type of connection, and truth be told, I’m not sure I have either. 

Of course I have the love of my father and those sparse, spoken memories of my mother's affections, but companionship and closeness have always seemed to escape me. 

This moment is nothing if not a welcomed experience though, despite the hint of an unnatural bond forming. 

And eventually I, too, fall into a light sleep beside him; his slow, easy breaths carried me away like the rhythmic cadence of waves coming ashore. Or so I've read as much. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s not been a restful slumber, as I’ve woken to check on him more than a few times and it’s barely midnight. My mind is flooded with irrational worry that I might overlook, or oversleep, through any signs of infection or fever; it’s true that with the former of the two I’m almost completely inept at handling. 

I’m also not convinced any sentient being in this household is capable of dealing with an ill Master at hand, at least none quite like him. But I have read a few things in the past that could possibly do the trick, if need be. 

He stirs and it startles my inner monologue, “Get some rest, Belle. I’m fine.” 

His words are grumbled and criminally-tired eyes are barely open enough to see whether I was actually awake or not. I suppose logic spoke on behalf of my movements, but that begs a few concerning questions… “Have you awakened every time I have? Should I leave and let you sleep? You need it more than I do. I’ll return tomorrow, first thing.” 

He doesn’t say anything and I take that as a clear indication of my needing to go. I fear I’m doing more harm than good at this point and I’d rather not unintentionally cause him to lose a night's rest by my disquieted nerves. 

I start to slip away from his side, moving so far as to have one of leg down and over the bend of the mattresses edge. I’m stopped abruptly by a large, strong hand, its grip true and yet unflinchingly gentle, “Please don’t…leave me.” He sucks in a gulp of chilled air and turns, a soft wince emanating, “Please. I…I don’t mind waking when you wake.” 

It’s not the frigid temperature or lack of lighting in this scary place that captures me, no, it’s the sincerity of his words and the plead to his tone. It steals the air right from within my lungs, replacing it with something I dare not name, for fear of what the morning might show me. 

_Who is this new person in my life, and what could this – all of this – possibly mean?_

I take his hand from around my bicep and squeeze it reassuringly, “I’ll stay then. Do you need anything?” 

He swallows and proceeds to drop a palm over those impossible cerulean eyes, “Yes, actually, I do. I’m…well, I’m…could you help me stand? I need to use the facilities.” To my delight, he appears impish and embarrassed by his request, but I make no fanfare nor pose any questions, I simply move to help. 

The instant my feet touch down on the icy stone floor, a shock soars through me; I gasp at how truly cold it is in this room, and just how comfortably warm I was lying next to him. 

_Him, he…the Beast. I need a name. But what to call you?_

I ponder my beloved books and a rush of character names come to me, but none seem quite right or suit him. 

_George, Romeo, Percival, Lawrence, Lennox…_

After a moment or two of distractedly tiptoeing towards the neighboring side of his poster bed, I arrive and reach out with my arms. He’s already sat upright, the pads of his paws – _feet?_ – resting on the partially crumbled, cracked checkered stone. 

“I don’t know how much help I can offer getting you onto your feet, but once there, I’ll steady as best I can.” 

He smirks and lets his head fall, eyes sealing as he fights the stab and sting of pain before it overwhelms. He forces out a breath of hot air and pushes himself to rise, wobbling a bit and immediately favoring his right leg. 

“There, now, where to next? I don’t think I’ve located the bathrooms on this side of the castle just yet.” 

I wrap an arm around his middle and he does similarly with my shoulders and the rear of my neck. There’s minimal weight resting on me however – I’m merely a means to keep him on the path, should any of his wounds prove to be too much of a burden. 

Emotional support, I’ve found, can make a great deal of difference in the outcome of a person’s capabilities, dire situations or naught. 

“It’s around that corner, there, only a small walk away.” 

We remain silent the duration of our short journey, but my mind is alight with endless questions: _How does someone like him_ use _the chamber? How have I never considered this before? Should I ask him at a later time? No, that’s highly invasive, don’t do that._

“Thank you, I’ll be but a minute.” So, it appears we’ve come to the halfway point while I had taken a brief holiday within the confines of my thoughts. 

“I’ll be here. No hastiness.” 

Unsteadily, he enters the grand washroom and secures the door behind him. I peek in as he does this, my curiosity nipping at every proper manner I had grown up with…and completely forgotten since being remanded here. 

True to his word, he’s returned and beside me again in a few moments’ time, an arm up and ready to loop around me once more. 

“What’s your name?” 

My eyes go wide with immediate embarrassment and utter stupor – I said that, aloud. No thought, no preamble, just let free the question and that was that. 

His brow rises infinitesimally and his mouth partway languishes open, “I…I–“

“No, no, I’m sorry. Don’t–forgive me. That’s inexcusably intrusive. Let’s get you returned and under the bedclothes to rest for the remainder of the night.” 

He nods and paints his face with an unsure smile; it sort of looks as though he’s disappointed to have not shared that intimate detail with me. As if he hadn’t realized how much he wanted me to know his name. Assuming he had one before…now. _Which of course he must…?_

The pair of us walk slowly, one step at a time, one balance reset at a time, until we finally reach the end of this intriguing midnight adventure. 

He slumps down onto the soft, pliable mattress and exhales, his chest vibrating with an unintended growl. He cuts it off when he realizes this and runs a hand threw the unkempt strands of his mane. A shoulder shrug and then, “Habit.” 

“No judgements here.” I whisper the words as I offer him a glass of old water. He politely declines and lays on his back a spell before rolling away from me. 

But I’m not leaving here tonight. 

I walk across the frozen stone and reach my end of the sizable bed – _since when did_ I _have a side?_

Easing myself down, I grapple with the decisions available to me: I can shift onto my left side and face him, but that might be awkward, or force a conversation neither of us desire. Next, I can choose to roll away, giving him my back to stare at, which could be misconstrued as rude. What I’m left with is to sleep on either my stomach or back but, shockingly, I’m paralyzed to make a choice. 

“It’s okay that you asked about my name.” 

His voice carries across the room, enchanting the empty spaces between and around us, much like a lighthouse guiding its seafarers home. I hold onto its echo and the odd sense of comfort it brings; only just yesterday did I detest him, did I view him as a creature of the blackest night. But now – now things aren’t so simple, or knowable. 

Onto my left then. 

“It was not my place to ask, and I blurted it out like a rash, spoiled child asking for her morning biscuits.” 

He smiles at that, undoubtedly a familiar memory of his past rising to the forefront. It’s the first time I’ve seen such life to his features and it’s…pleasant. Not scary or unsettling, despite the size of his unnatural fangs. But those teeth saved my life and I’ll never be anything but grateful to him for having them. 

“It’s merely a name, Belle.” 

I fold an arm underneath my jaw and curl my lower half protectively inwards, closer to the middle of me. A shiver shudders through my body and he wastes not a moment inviting me to use his bed linens. “You don’t have to stay and be cold. But you’re welcome to lie beneath the blankets, if you do, stay that is. But uh, you don’t have to…or anything.” 

He stumbles over his words and I want to laugh – it’s endearing and makes him visible to me in a way I hadn’t glimpsed before. A vulnerability is emanating from him and as much as I want to seize the opportunity, I know it is not the appropriate timing. 

“Thank you, and yes, that’d be much better than this wintry un-wonderland you have happening in here.” 

“It’s all the fur, really.” 

He lifts the bedclothes and I ease in, unthinkingly. The bed is expansive but even under here I can feel a summer’s warmth permeating from off of him. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? No fever or…anything of the sort?” 

He tucks in again, gripping the fabric with both fists a measure stronger than he should before sighing, “Get to sleep. I’m well and truly alright. I’m a beast…the thick overcoat is to blame.” 

I don’t like when he calls himself that anymore. Not that he’s done it much in the small amount of time I’ve spent here at a Royal palace. 

“You–you’re n…” 

But he did capture and imprison both my father and I. Is that not beastly behavior? Is that not something to be feared or justly concerned with? Suddenly my presence in this room, in _his bed_ , feels stifling and all too unsure. 

“Adam. My name is, well was, Adam.” 

The air abandons me and I turn to look at him. _What are these emotions, why am I feeling anything at all in response to this reveal?_

My mouth opens and closes like a guppy sucking its last, and suddenly, I feel a hot wave of foolishness threaten to overtake me. He knew what I was going to say and said the one thing that would cease my speech. He said his name **in the past tense.**

“Is your name no longer Adam?” 

He eases onto his back and I watch silently as those sky-blues glaze over with reinstated distance; he’s mentally reshaping the wall between us. I swallow the knot in my throat and shake myself ever so, uncertain of how I should feel. 

It’s only then that I realize the barriers had come down, but what’s immediately worse – I’m not entirely certain I want them reconstructed. 

“I am no longer Adam.” 

Five words. Fifteen characters. Seven syllables. 

I felt something shatter in me, for him. I wanted to reach out and connect again, like we had earlier this evening – my side pressed to his. Longed to place my hand on his forearm, or entwine my fingers with his. Something, _anything_ to help with this achingly sad moment. 

But…why? _When did I gain ownership of this man’s emotional well-being?_

The simple answer was: I haven't. And yet my mind screams to offer him an act of kindness, despite the events that have lead us to right now. To show him he’s not a beast, not a “used to be” person. 

Because there _is_ something there that wasn’t there before. Something I dare not name in the disquieted corners of my thoughts for fear of exposing a truth too different to understand. 

“You’re not a beast, Adam.” 

His eyes flash open and he turns to me, the bed creaking under his bulk. I don't give him admission to speak just yet, words coming from within me without so much as a pause for air, “Would a beast save a girl's life? Would a beast see to it that she’s warm and comfortable during the snowy nighttime? Would an animal care about a life lived before its current?” 

The quarters' candlelight has faded to a dull glow behind him, but a tear glimmers and catches in his eye, and he doesn’t hide it from me. 

“Would a man imprison another for stealing a rose on behalf of his daughter? Would that same man keep said daughter after releasing her father? And lastly, would it then expect gratitude and forgiveness upon saving the girl's life, even though he was the cause of her peril?” 

I want to cry, not from sadness or anger but by a combination of every emotion I’ve ever felt. He hates himself and won’t accept any length of insight or opinion I might offer him, here on this night. 

Perhaps we’re both trying too soon to manifest a thing that’s simply not meant to be. 

Perhaps he’s pushing me away because I will inevitably leave and he will assuredly remain. 

Perhaps he’s been the prisoner all along, and not I.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit longer than normal, but I couldn't help myself! I know I probably should put these chapters together into one cohesive fic, and maybe I will when it comes time to write chapter 3 (tomorrow!), but for now, they're separate. Thank you all so so much for the kudos, comments, bookmarks & subscriptions. Means. The. World. x


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